Jackoon and The Quest For The Blood Diemonds
by RavRav12
Summary: Jackoon the furry art reviewer finds himself trapped in Africa indepted to a Somali warlord, and he and his friends must search the Sahara, battling wildlife, rebel militias, cannibalistic tribals, and other foes, for the legendary treasure known as the "Blood Diemonds"


Jack awoke in the middle of a sea of tall, dry grasses, the sun beating hard against his mud crusted fur, and the thick smell of sand, ebola, and elephant dung in the air. His stomach churned, and he moaned in discomfort. His mouth was dry as a college student's sense of humor, his body roasting in the heat. His head was sore, and he was covered in cuts and bruises. He felt like burning cow shit, and would've vomited if he had anything in his stomach in the first place. He rose from the thick brush, legs like jelly, and looked throughout the endless plains and passing giraffes and cantelopes, his head throbbing like a sentient tumor with anger issues. "Where the hell am I?" he said aloud, looking down at himself, seeing all the damage on his body. His clothes were torn to shreds, stained with blood, mud, and vomit. His hoody, his precious, trademark hoody, was barely recognizable. His pants were in nearly worse shape, sagging down off his hips like a drunken one night stand. At his feet he saw a crumpled up piece of paper, stained and torn at the sides, a composition notebook page with black marker words scribbled on it. He picked it up and uncrumpled it, and rubbing the crust from his stinging eyes, he tried to make out the words:

 _g et b oo d d im onds_ , he made out. Whatever that meant. The rest of it was just a bunch of water stained dots and colors, with random lines scrawled on it. It looked like an autistic child's No sense. Jack wadded up the paper and threw it behind him, dung beetles taking notice and rolling it away amongst their rolling convoy of shit. "I'm never drinking again for a month." he said.

Suddenly, he heard the sound of speeding engines in the distance, followed by frightened birds flying up from the trees in panic. He turned to the horizon, and a jeep flew up from the grasses, and sped towards him, swerving just feet away from him, all cool like and shit. Inside the jeep were two people, one in the back, a huge black guy holding a minigun, sweating more than a hot dog left in the sun too long. Driving the jeep was someone he remembered.

"Souren..?" Jack asked.

"Get in." Soren said. "Now."

"What's goin' on? Wher-"

"We got company!" The man in the back yelled in a thick ugandan accent. Suddenly, from that same horizon, a pack of angry tribals riding camels and brandishing dart guns and spears rushed out from the grasses, growling and spitting towards the jeep and Jack, screaming gibberish and broken english in deep voices. Without question, Jack hopped in the passenger seat and they drove away, the rabid animals in pursuit, their handlers shooting spears and ebola darts at the vehicle.

"WHAT THE HELL! SOREN WHAT'S HAPPENING?!"

"What do you think? You started all this. Now take this and take out those ebola darts" Souren handed jack a Beretta 9mm pistol.

"I started this? I don't even know where we are, and I never shot a gun in my life."

"You're in Africa, and you've pissed alot of people off." Soren explained

"Again?"

"Not just recolor artists this time. Kunta, where's the nearest settlement?"

"I know da way! Go left, then-" An ebola dart hit him in the neck, and instantaneously his flesh began to melt away off his skull like cheese. Screaming in agony, he flailed like a headless chicken, flicking melted flesh all over them and the jeep, before falling off the back of the jeep, his flesh splattering and exposed bones shattering into dust in the shape of a skull laughing menacingly: " _ **EBOLA, HA HA HA!"**_

"JESUS CHRIST!" Jack exclaimed, understandably traumatized.

"Damn, there is not enough meds and therapy in the world to undo that." Souren commented. "Alright Jack, I need you to take his gun! I'll find a way to shake them!"

"No way! I don't wanna get shot by those things! I mean, did you just see that? He melted and was worse than Goatze."

"Fine, drive then." Souren got up and hopped over into the back, melted flesh staining his high heel combat boots.

"Wait, I can't drive. Souren?!"

Souren grabbed the now-filthy minigun(with gloves, of course) and fired rapid fire hellfire down on their pursuers. Jack grasped the steering wheel and struggled to straighten their direction. Swerving all over the Saharra, Jack dodged packs of zebras and rebel convoys as Souren felled the tribals two by twelve, grinding them into hamburger with every bullet piercing through their thin, bony bodies.

"What did I do?!" Jack shouted to Soren as he drove.

"Okay, so, long story short. You got indebted to a wanted somalian warlord, and now we gotta come up with these things called 'Blood Diemonds', or he's gonna cut our lips off and burn us alive"

"W-what? The fu-WHAT!? Blood Diamonds?!"

"No no no, Blood DIE-monds, jack. D-I-E. As in 'Die'. Its in the title, Jack, c'mon."

The tribals were being decimated at this point, only a fraction of their original numbers(which wasn't that much anyway). The last few retreated into the jungle brush, and our heroes were victorious.

"We did it!" Jack cheered.

"Now, where ar-JACK WATCH THE FOOKIN ROAD!"

"Oh yeah, where're we-"

The jeep drove off a cliff side, plummeting down into the chasm, screaming as their vehicle flipped downward, catching fire and blowing up as they descend into the waters at the bottom of the chasm.


End file.
